Gratification
by Keenon
Summary: Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? Rating will change. Human/Hunter Slash / Yaoi
1. Πείνα

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, nor do I own the **blatant **steal-age of the brilliant _Naniris' __**'hunter thoughts' **_(ie. Mineminemine, runjumpounce, and the general choppy words). She is a **genius **and I'm in _love _with her story "A Hunter Captured" and I hope to Jesus that she won't be mad that I snagged her **wonderfully **_original _idea.

I'd like to thank Chew no Kitsune for being so gracious as to help my (more than awful) translations. Be expecting a revamp of a few of these chapters in an attempt to fix my awful German.

* * *

**Hunger.**

I don't know what I'm doing. Honestly, I've not the slightest clue. Following a human about like some deranged _pet. _The idea isn't as unappealing as I wish it was. I'm no house pet, nor am I a dog. These are words I pick up from the human. _λεία_, I have to remind myself though each day his seeming like my next meal dwindles. He must know this because tossing me about like a rag doll when I get in his way is not out of the question. In disturbed ways I like it, and even with my animalistic state of mind I know that's fucking messed up. A snarl rips from the pit of my throat instinctively as I drop to all fours. Prowling about in the dirt-scouting ahead for him.

"Όλες σαφείς _[all clear]._"I know he doesn't understand me as I do him. There is so much I've yet to learn from this beast, this monster. Foreign being-even. I hear the unmistakable _chink _of his _loudstingdeath _and force back a shudder. Every instinct screaming at me to turn tail and run though I know he won't pierce me with an _airsting_. Or, at least, he has yet to in the few weeks we've been traveling together. Prowling around I stalk back to him. His dark eyes were trained down on my form, the gleam of distrust still shining in his abysmal irises. It takes time to trust, this is true. I give him none of my faith save for the small notion of hope that he won't kill me in an offhand swipe of human fury.

Slowly a nod met me, gestures work far better than actually speaking. He's looking for a _reddoor._ The kind that we can't get into-hell, even I can't get into without a bit of help. They don't offer much protection from strongbeasts, but nearly everything else is safe. Longtongues, bigblinders, and burningnecks are the only things that can do any harm of any sort through the reinforced bars. And even they can do but very limited damage. I think that's sort of the point though. Anyway, they are what we aim to find in our travels. To restock on supplies and food-I think he knows I must be getting hungry. Every so often an unwanted whimper would escape me, along with the snarls of my stomach. It's been a good two days since I've eaten anything decent. Don't get me wrong, he's offered food. It's not the same thrill though, of catching your own prey.

I glance up at him and catch a wary eye, must have realized something was amiss. I shook my head in promise I wouldn't harm him. Or, at least, I don't think I would. Even now I feel no empowering need to attack this human. To kill him and feast upon my claim. He's bizarrely different, maybe not to others but to myself. Some dormant human in me must recognize something in his prolonged behavior. Something from a past life. Keeping me from doing anything malevolent. These muses must have clouded my judgment to some degree because when my stomach offered another rattle I doubled over. Forgetting to conceal the pain of famish. _Whimper. Pain. Hunger. Food. Whimper. Starve. Light hurts. Prey? Painpainpain. Nonono. Hunger. Whimper._

My head chanted in a desperate rhythm. Shutupshutupshutup. I know I'm starving. He was looking down at me in confusion now, frowning. He murmured something before turning and shoving a hand into his knapsack.

"Du dummer Hund. Du musst essen. Warum bist du nur so verdammt stur?" My thoughts scattered and flounced in a desperate attempt to understand him. 'Hund', that's me. 'Essen', that's 'eat'. 'Du', I think that might be referring to me. 'Verdammt', anger word-but his voice isn't angry, it's questioning. He's asking a question of some sort. Alright. I allowed a sepia hued eye to flick to what he was doing, rustling in a pack-looking for something? My senses drove off a cliff when he drew out what he had been searching for. Absently my eyes drooped at the pleasurable smell now wafting through the air. _Food_. But it's not mine. Is he taunting me?

No. His eyes are too gentle, not excessively so, but enough to tell me that he is trying to help. He wants me to have it. Instinctively I wrinkled the bridge of my nose. I don't want help…the mournful groan from my stomach protested otherwise. I don't understand. Why am I still alive anyway? I should have died long ago when I sat in this mans' lap. Sifting through once foreign objects of 'pills', 'fire bottles', and 'knife pockets'. He lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Do you hate jerky, or is it just me?" Alright, another question. I've got this one. Something about disliking him-I think. I don't dislike him. In confusion I cocked an eyebrow, which is kind of silly, I know he can't see under my hood as I can.

"Δεν σας μισώ, λεία _[I don't hate you, prey]_." And before I could stop myself I was standing, the rasp that was my voice being drowned by yet another moan courtesy of my stomach. He offered a sort of half smile, but the blank look in his eyes spoke that he didn't understand a word of my gushing. Sighing gingerly I outstretched a hand and took the package from him, how else am I going to show that I don't dislike him?

Refusing the offer would be anything but encouraging. If he were of my own kind I would have earned a swipe across the muzzle for the lack of gratitude, no one offered food and if they were to then it was considered a great offer. Humans are so bizarre, tossing supplies about needlessly. I offered my own sort of half grin before ripping into the faux meaty substance. _Jerky? _Yet another foreign word ignited by him, I stow it away for further inspection, no need to think while enjoying a perfectly good meal.

"Ευγνώμων _[Grateful]_."


	2. Διασύνδεση

Yes, Taveor can speak English, but he prefers German. I don't think this is as good as the first but it's still a build in their relationship-but I don't plan posting in this to be a regular occurrence. Nor is it a proper story, it's mostly just ficbits all tossed together to portray my friend's character [Taveor] and my own character [Darien] interacting. Based off a roleplay.

Once more, thanks to Chew no Kitsune for being so patient as to properly translate. I'd also like to apologize to my subscribers for the false chapter posting. I'm doing an entire revamp of this story as to make it better. Thanks for all of your patience as well.

**Interface.**

We exchange looks; uneasy, unsettled. I don't fully understand but he obviously recognizes something about our current situation. There are no strongbeasts, nor longtongues, nor the mobpack. Just an endless stretch of road before us surrounded by a vast openness-parched and gray. I could see nothing but sienna hued grasses sprouting from the soiled asphalt, my unclothed feet scalding against the pavement with each blistering step. This was ignored, my ears fluttered about, groping out to catch what had set him on edge. A constant hum of _something _resonated from behind us but I offered it no attention-not until the prey turns back and clicks his loudstingdeath in preparation.

Now I was focused, cocking a head over my clothed shoulder-these shelters were but tattered rags now and only produced more heat, but when I tried to remove them he caught my arm to shake his head in disapproval. Something was out there, but it smelled nothing of my kind. I inhale deeply but nothing kisses my nostrils, nothing but arid upwind scents of decay for the smells of the cities not beyond reaching out here. Miles away.

"Komm, gib mir dein Hemd. Du musst wie ein Mensch aussehen." _[Come on, give me your shirt, you need to look human]_." The Prey's voice was taut and strained with something ethereal, it was enough to make my flesh gnarl and crawl. He beckoned me over with the hand free of his weapon and I followed suit. Nervously making my way close enough that I was in arms length. Clumsy digits gripped at the zipper on my shelter and tore it down, my eyes widened. _Take shelter? Why? Nonono. Bright hurts. Shelter. Wantwant. Pleasepleaseplease. No take shelter. _My head skirled at me to take action against his own but the grave expression he bore kept me from raising arm. A soft whimper is all I offer as it slips off my body and into his hands.

Taking no time he swings the fabric about my waist and turns to my face, scowling uneasily.

"Du bist schmutzig _[You're filthy_]." His voice is scalding, hitting a note of desperation as turns to rummage in his pack for something. Producing a cloth he takes no heed to warn and simply shoves it to my face. Brash strokes skritch at my cheek, the fabric is coarse. Instinctively I flinch back, a short snarl escaping me.

"Σταματάω! [_Stop!_]" My throat rasps as I fight the intruding hand. He snaps something fierce and struggles against my altered strength-in the end simply giving up on the effort and going to work on studying me again. I'm not sure what possessed him but he flicked out a finger and brushed it against my anemic skin. Frown deepening he shook his head in some unnamable disappointment.

The louder the thrum became the more antsy he grew. My nerves began to stray, the visceral forces in me want to snarl but I bite my tongue and turn away. Finally he growled something, glancing back at the growing shadow of the beast approaching us and nudges me. Nodding his head to continue he flexes his grip on the loudstingdeath. I remain silent.

""Halt deine Schnauze, Köter!" _[Hold your tongue, Dog]_." The look he flashes me tells that I must continue this action. The feeling of exposure amplifies when I exchange a glimpse with him, his eyes meeting mine full on rather than simply guessing where they may be. My gut clenches and a whimper gurgles forth. A sharp kick to my thigh is what I receive for this slip. Flashing him a sharp warning glance I flare teeth. He, too, narrows his gaze. Spitting to the side I break the tension, turning away-back to whatever was following us. It was cruising slower now. Watery beams of heat breathed from the asphalt, reminding me that the pads of my feet were scalding.

The lack of shelter offered a kiss of air to my heated skin but I found no comfort in the chilled state. Nudging my Prey I shoulder the direction behind us. Had he not been the one to recognize the potential danger before I? Why was he not shooting-or demanding to run? Confusion prickled my exposed body. I narrow my hypersensitive eyes and snarl again, the light burns my retinas.

""Seh sie nicht an." _[Don't look at them]_." His voice was commanding, I didn't need to even attempt to translate his words because a moment later he jerked me around and gestured to look forward-at the sun parched highway we now rode. I growl softly at being treated so roughly but stay my irrationality in attacking him. The ground began to tremble under the thrum of the beast that would soon be upon us. It was pronounced enough for my feet to feel it, yet at the same time not that a strongbeast would produce. I swallowed the urge to turn and look at whatever it was.

The light hurts.

"Hey." The voice was unfamiliar. I wrinkle the bridge of my nose, the Prey tightens his hold on the loudstingdeath before he glances over. Keep walking? "Hey kid! I'm talkin' to y'all." My throat clenches at the edge in the man's tone. His words sounded nothing like my human's. They offered no room for consolation, my stomach clenches as my legs want to curl into the ground. I glance over to the Prey but he's not looking at me-his focus is on the stranger. Allowing curiosity to get the best of my diluted conscious I raise my attention. Two men met my sepia hued irises, but they were like no other I've seen in our travels-their hides were protected by something dark though their faces were pale and they sat in the innards of the beasts I often saw abandoned on streets in the city. It must have been a dull rust hue but I didn't pay it much mind.

"What 're you yung'ins doin' all the way out here?" The way their eyes lingered on the backpack my Prey was carrying made my stomach churn. Somewhere in the dormant human half of me I must have been processing this situation properly but not this visceral being I've become. Softly at first my body began growling, warning. Leave. Go away. They must have seen it, a sharp kick collided with my calf to silence me. But the damage had been done.

"He's one 'a them!" The human spat, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. My Prey hissed something angry in my direction and frowned at the strangers.

"He's with me."

"Boy, you best put that fucker down a'fore you git in a heapa trouble." His grip tightened on the loudstingdeath, finger playing the trigger.

"He's with me." Voice more stern, more forceful. The men-λεία-snarled down something to him. They exchanged heated words, somewhere I stopped trying to keep up. It made my head throb with the effort. Settling instead to growl openly, my eyes meeting the mans' in passengers seat. Till now he'd been silent, he too began snarling something in that foreign tongue, but it was offered towards me. What ever it had been it was enough to toss my Prey's conscious out the window because the shotgun slung across a shoulder fell down to his arms. He took aim.

"Get the hell out of here."

"Look boy, we ain't looken fer no trouble-"

"Then keep fucking driving." He tossed his shotgun in the direction of the road , fingers still dancing on the trigger.

"Don't say we ain't warned you 'bout them monsters-once y'all turn you ain't gon'a turn back." The engine revved-words like this spring into my head so often nowadays, I haven't the slightest clue what I know or what I don't anymore-and sputtered off. We stood there for what feels like forever. Too long. Exposed to the sun a headache had sprung up but he showed no signs of moving. Only standing with his loudstingdeath still at ready to crack an airsting. Against my body's judgment I stayed absolutely still for a good two minutes-aches of standing motionless for so long groaned in my bones. This had to end.

Toppling to all fours silently I crawled forwards, conscious of the loudstingdeath still prepared to kill. Only when I nudged his arm with the scuffed pads of my own fingers did he stir. Jolting as if he had been shocked he turned downwards to me slowly. My exposed eyes meeting his for a long time before it occurred to me what might help. Gnarling around I fished around in my own pockets, finally brushing my target. The _bottle. _It's trinkets made crisp cackles-they soothe the ears.

Whimpering once softly I offer them from my position on the ground. With drawling movements he takes it, scrutinizes it for a moment then I receive the reaction I want. The gentlest of smiles brushes his dirtied face for a moment before he pockets the _bottle_, turning down to me once more. Uneasily reaching down and scratching the top of my head as if I were some sort of animal.

"Ähm, danke" _[Um, thanks]_." We turned back to the pavement then, the sun was being enveloped with crisp, nightly aromas. Turning back to me he beckons, it's best to keep moving when not shrouded in darkness. So we do. One step at a time.


	3. Εταιρεία

Short update is short. Yes, I know. I'm sorry! I've been working on  
about four other things, though, and this just kind of sprang out of  
absolutely _no where. _I kind of wanted to change up the point of view  
give, Tave a bit of a chance. As always, Tiff, I hope you approve as  
well as all my lovely readers :] I'd also like to point out this might be  
almost _two months in _to Darien and Taveor's bizarre companionship

Thank you once more to Chew no Kitsune for properly translating my  
work. And again to my subscribers, I apologize for the inconvience I  
may pose. I am doing a revamp of this story so expect a few things  
to be changed.

**Company.**

"Lächeln" The obsidian haired man accented his order with a taut grin of his own. Darien offered but a half snarl, muted whimpers of displeasure rang forth at the unnecessary stretch. Dry, chapped lips splitting with the foreign notion. Taveor simply puffed out a sigh of exasperation, turning his own set of dark irises out into the overcast marshland that was once a town. Being in fucking Louisiana made him urn for home; when it rained it didn't fucking _pour. _Yet another indecipherable whisper parted his hunter's-now bleeding-lips. Once gaining his attention it rasped a river of utter gibberish, inching close enough to touch before slipping back once again.

Indecisive.

It was a bizarre sight, but nothing seemed to pique his surprise much anymore. Watching Hünd shred down a Charger mid-run was at the to of his count, right next to beating down a tank with a rusted fire axe because shotgun shells had ran slim. He found himself drawn back to focus by the beast rocking forward once again, this time to sniff tentatively at his shoulder-eyes trained up onto his own. It was weird, looking into those inhuman irises. Something he still finds difficult to grasp. They could almost be human, save for the contaminated whites-now almost black-and dilated pupils. The blood hued rings that drooped around them, however, always managed to toss him off guard. If he were to step back it would almost appear that the eyes had completely disappeared.

But they hadn't. And at the moment they were blinking up at him. Forcing out a puff of air once more he jerked back, away from the monster before him. Flaring his nostrils slightly at the musk-scent of infection naturally it was easiest to just shove it away. _Him. _It was still a _him_. Shoving these thoughts aside he quipped an abrupt "Was willst du, Hund?" The almost questioning tilt of the beasts' shoulders was enough to note that it understood almost nothing of what he had said-save for the word Hünd. It always seemed to respond to that.

It was weird, seeing the decaying cogs in the Hunter's head slowly begin to churn as it struggled to grasp what he was trying to say. As if to help it along he found himself shrugging and crossing his arms. Weighing himself to a single leg as he fixated it with a firm stare. It seemed to comprehend some of the message. The yip, though, in return was still unconvincing. Exasperated once more with the beasts' slow conception Taveor plopped himself to the ground, gnarling around to grab his pack only to find himself going ridged. The heat, too warm to be anything but feverish, that plopped itself in his lap was enough for any sane being to spark alarm. Whipping back around he found himself face to face with Darien.

Every fiber in his being screamed to shove it away, common sense told him to fumble around for the shotgun he knew not to be far from reach. Both of these logical nuances were utterly ignored as the monster snuffed closer, sniffing. Nuzzling. Prodding. Curious. He struggled to keep his pulse in check-praying not to go into overdrive. Hund was docile enough..most of the time. The thought alone was enough to make him edgy. Skittish. Any twitch under that baggy hoodie didn't go unnoticed. Dark, trained irises flitted around the body in his lap. The position alone was enough to provoke unease, an infected so close was all the more cause of impending panic.

Swallowing these thoughts with a dry rasp he brought a hand up to Darien's chest-splayed fingers ready to push away. The beast caught on quickly, snatching down to prevent intrusion.

"Όχι."

And then those hands were back to prodding around. Occasionally pinching the visible flesh on his arms, inexplicably aware of his own claws. Careful, even. It was almost…terrifying. The humanity in these touches. The restraint. It was unnerving, to say in the least. This time, with more force, Taveor snapped out a "Hund, steh auf." Thrusting forward with both hands to shove the monster off him. A quiet hiss met this as Darien's back plodded into the concrete. Wrinkling the bridge of his nose he snapped up to bark out more gibberish before turning away. Snuffing off towards the door-as if a dog whom wanted to be allowed out of the house to do whatever may fancy their interest. In this case, most likely, to scavenge.

"Επιτρέψτε μου να αναφέρονται, λεία." The harsh rasp that accented this particular string of rubbish didn't fall upon deaf ears. Taveor narrowed his eyes before shoving up off the ground, taking care to softly kick at Darien's out stretched hand as he opened the door. This received a hiss as well as a nip to the calf-something the monster had picked up, a sort of nasty habit in response to displeasure.

"Out." Taveor snapped, pointing to the opened pathway. Without needing to look he felt the discontentment radiating from his hunter as it stalked out, bunching up it's haunches before leaping off into the darkening evening. He bothered only to tear his eyes away from the silhouetted Louisiana marshland when Hund's outline had all but melded into the reddened skyline that was once a city. It will be back by the morning..the budding feeling of lonesomeness was almost as unnerving as those infected hands that had once roamed his body. A soft scoff bloomed forth before he turned back into the guarded room, taking care to lock the door on his way in.


	4. Έκθεση

Ohmygoodness, so many thank yous to the lovely _CleverDucky.  
_She is the shit. Look her up. I'm so flattered by her, I actually  
willed myself to update (this was bound for the scraps, honestly)  
Another for the weird point of view stack, it's bound to switch  
around from Darien to 3rd, though. Oh, and this chapter is a bit  
of a _flashback to the second week they knew each other, _when  
Tave was still looking to find his past group whom he had been  
split up with. Enjoy?

* * *

**Exposure.**

It was a full week of scouring around amongst the four of them, an entire week without seeing hide nor hair of their fifth. Their ill-tempered German. Ithus insisted 'just a day more' each time someone would find themselves in doubt. Just a day more. Oliver found he must be going soft for every time she would plea against Mattis and himself he would be the first to cave.

"Alright, Baby Girl, alright. One more day, if we don't find him tomorrow; we leave." The received expression of utmost determination was almost endearing. She would nod, Mattis would give him a knowing stare, and Destrian would silently pluck his rifle from the ground and stride over to the barred door. Unlatching it before turning back fractionally as if to ask if everyone was ready.

Each trip they would go out a little farther.

Each trip they would return fruitless.

On the sixth day Ithus' insistence was becoming steadily less whole hearted, and by the seventh day she finally agreed to continue on and just_ accept _that foreboding feeling she'd shoved back since the beginning in that fucking sugar cane field. A tank had shown at possibly the worst time-Taveor had been caught off guard and was left behind by Mattis' orders. There was no way he was still alive. Alone for a week, running low on shotgun shells, no medical kit to patch up with, no back up, no company. He was as good as dead as soon as they agreed press on.

That night they packed, ate a light meal of lukewarm green beans courtesy of Oliver, and readied for bed in the house they'd barricaded-agreeing to set off at the break of dawn the next morning. They were all, however, woken early by an all but riotous berate on the door, Mattis shrugged it off as a zombie. Ithus didn't. She rushed to the room in which the door was; the resonating squeal was enough to rouse the others.

There, in the doorway, stood a rather disheveled but relatively unscathed German man. Dark hair astray, shirt and jeans corrupted with tears and God knows what else. Thin lips pulled upwards ever so slightly, almost sheepish.

"Hallo." The softly spoken hint in his accent-laced greeting was almost a shadow of their recognizably loud comrade. It was nothing like the loudmouth they had known a week ago. Ithus would later defend that 'he probably hasn't talked once in the last week' and that it was 'a blessing' that he was even trying now. No one mentioned it after that. It was after about a day or so when he began to speak up as he usually did. Save for a few extra influxes of German that sometimes escaped before he could properly translate it was like having their old Taveor back. He'd usually catch himself half way through and revert back to English, anyway.

Something was off, though.

This was noted first by Oliver when food began to _'mysteriously' _disappear from his pack Next to point out the outlandish was Destrian whom noted that odd entrances, such as second story windows and bathroom vents, opened-or hastily slapped back together. Then Ithus found the blood. Dapplets of fresh crimson spilled in the room Taveor had resided that night. "Nosebleed." was their only justification. Ithus was far from convinced, especially when the plea to remain in the particular safe house for a night more. Courtesy of Taveor, of course. His excuse had been that a lucky Charger had managed to nick him.

She decided it was time to ask questions. The German, though, would admit to weakness only whilst knocking on death's door (if even then); and he sure as hell wouldn't speak up if the other boys were around. It would be better to wait till later after night had settled in to even begin to mention anything to him. Alone.

So she waited, and when dusk finally shrouded the rooms she slipped out of her room. The silhouette of another figure would be just visible in the darkness, this of course was enough to spike panic. Instinctively, she stilled, forced back breathing until it had slowed to indecipherably soft gasps. A few seconds of this anxiety would pass before she realized whom her company was. Dark eyes widened at the revelation. Taveor. He shuffled towards the stairs, in his hands a medical pack. Where the fuck was he going..? The better half of her told her to simply drop it, to turn back into her room. To sleep and to deal with him tomorrow.

Curiosity, of course, got the better of her.

Probing softly down the stairs she found she could just make out the shaded man from outcasted, milky beams of moonlight that spilled over bars in the safe-room door.

"Hund." The whisper, outside the vegetation rustled fractionally. German was most certainly _not _her forte, she had taken _French_ in high school. Her first year in college, though, was enough to lay out the basis of the language-pressed, of course, by her mother whom had promised to take her to Germany on her next business trip so long as she could learn enough of the language to hold her over whilst there. She did.

"Hund, ist dass Sie? [_Dog, is that you?_]" The German flowed from that sharp tongue almost melodically as he addressed the night. A shallow hiss broke the terse silence that ensued, Taveor looked almost relieved while his fingers unlatched the door, working up the metal with practiced solitude before toeing it open. Stepping hesitantly into the dark as he unzipped the bag. "Hierher, Hund zu erhalten, wir müssen sich beeilen. _[Get over here, Dog, we need to hurry.]_" Beckoning to the night he gestured for something to come _closer._ A soft, almost animalistic, whimper erupted as another form _crawled_ into sight.

A hunter.

Ithus watched in disbelief for a moment, why the fuck isn't Taveor doing anything? It took all of two seconds for her to piece together that she needed to help him. Almost frantically she flitted over and grabbed a spare plank of plywood-thanking God the pile hadn't been shoved outside after they finished barricading the door. Instinctively she sprang out into the open , rushing at the _monster_.

"Taveor!" The beast visibly stiffened, snapping around to look at her before raising its' arms in a last ditch effort to defend itself. She almost hesitated. Almost. Why the fuck wasn't it attacking? Taveor, however, beat it to the punch-pushing his arms up and catching her mid-swing, dark eyes uncharacteristically wide. Shock was there, as well as fear. It wasn't for himself whom he feared. A stream of broken German molded from taut lips before he regained enough lucidity to revert to English.

"Mein Gott, Ithus, stoppen! _Stop_!" His tone was urgent; she tossed him an incredulous stare, mouth agape as she fished for words. Words clung to her throat as the dark haired man turned to the beast, its full attention was however, on her. Clicking his tongue Taveor regained it's eyes. Its movements were choppy, brief. "Hund, büsche _[Dog, bushes]_." With that he nodded to the shrubbery with which the beast came. It looked at him a moment, unmoving. Blank. Before it backed up a few steps, still on all fours. Puffing out a sigh Taveor must have decided that this was as good as it was going to get. He refocused back to the woman still clutched in his grip.

"What the hell is going on here, Taveor?" The demanding tone would have made a lesser man flinch.

"Ith, calm down. Drop the stick." His voice was soft, almost patronizing-as if talking to a startled child. Ithus frowned at such yet none the less dropped the offending item with a little more force than needed. Jerking her wrist back from his slackened grip she found herself narrowing dark umber irises.

"That's a fucking hunter, why aren't you worried _at all._" The brunette stepped back towards danger, rasping a pale hand through knotted tresses, inhaling deeply through his nose before turning to the monster. Gingerly he beckoned for it to come closer

"Komm her." Hesitantly, and to Ithus' utter disbelief, it inched forwards. Almost instinctively she found herself flexing slim digits as if to mimic the action of pulling the trigger. God, she needed a gun. Suspense tensed her, discomfort brimmed forth. Taveor glanced down at the beast for a moment longer before gesturing upwards "Bis, Hund _[Up, Dog]_." It hesitated once more, as if struggling to grasp what the man was saying before it turned to look at her once more. Only then did it slowly bring it's hands up to its' knees, as if it took more effort than it would have liked to right itself. Standing the thing was tall, almost Taveor's height, if not only a few inches shy.

Its gaze didn't break, she didn't need to see its eyes to know they were locked upon her own.

"It's a fucking _monster_. Why is it here?"

"_He._" It was kind of an offhand insist, she flashed him a look that blatantly spoke that she didn't care before he continued. "He's with me."

"I see that. Fucking why is here? Did you catch the stupids, Tave? It's a monster, not a _dog_."

"He's _hurt_." The German shot back abruptly, voice sharp. The Hunter perked up at such an outburst, snorting aloud before edging forth ever so slightly. Ithus was having nothing of the sort, ducking down and grabbing at the plywood before cocking back. Ready to swing. Exasperated, Taveor snatched at her wrist, yanking away the makeshift weapon. She narrowed her eyes as he threw it aside. All the while the infected was quipping gibberish, offering a sort of wave in his own direction before snarling softly. What the fuck..? Taveor flashed him a look before pointing at the red pack that had been previously discarded. He then turned back to Ithus, voice soft, patronizing once more.

"I have to finish, go back to sleep. We can talk tomorrow." Um, no.

"I'm not leaving you out here alone with _that._" She flashed the offending creature a crude look. It hissed in response, as if it understood her. To this she could only blink, it was so fucking..conscious. And that got under her skin more so than she would have liked to admit. Glancing back up she found Taveor's eyes on her, exasperated once more before he tossed a hand about.

"Fine, whatever, just don't try to hit him again." The comment was thrown over a shoulder as he turned and knelt to scoop up the health pack, unraveling a cylinder of gauze and some antiseptic. "Komm her, Hund." He beckoned to the monster, it stared over to her a moment before shuffling over-still on two legs. It was a bizarre sight, in the least. So compliant. Why? She narrowed her eyes, distrusting once more. What was wrong with this Hunter? Was it waiting for the right time to attack..? The soft click of plastic teeth being unwound drew her attention once more, revealing black tee that would have read 'Keep Out of Direct Sunlight' in bold white print.

Nothing out of the ordinary would have snagged her attention if the moonlight wasn't directed in the manner it was, the shirt was drenched. Because of the black she could just make out a slight red twinge but it was there. She almost gasped aloud. Almost. It was only when the hunter allowed a soft whimper-to being exposed most likely, to this she was shocked as well, she figured there would be more fight as Tave undressed the monster. The hood, however, stayed on. Maybe that was the source of its' compliancy.

A prod as well as another whimper caught her attention.

"Geben Sie mir, die _[Relax, this will hurt]_." Seeing her German this gentle was almost as out of place as seeing him heal an infected as if it were one of them. A human. It was like seeing an entirely different person. If the monster, however, was shocked it was well disguised. The only movement she could note from it was the shallow inhale and exhale it's chest proved.

A pair of metal scissors glinted in the pale light. The animal visibly stiffened before flexing its hands-claws. Taveor flashed it a pointed glare before making quick business of the shirt. A squelching sound as fabric lifted off sticky flesh made her stomach knot over. It made no noise, the only sign of tenderness was the way its breath hitched in the arch.

"_Ο Θεός, τον πόνο_.." It's voice was raspy, as if it was torn from its very vocal chords-the words melded into a soft keen as Taveor continued his inspection of the wound. It was deep, she could see that from the distance. There could be no other reason for the infecteds' hindrance other than that; she chastised internally. The brunette man turned back into the kit, fishing around for something before a soft grunt of triumph broke the silence. What produced was a coiled, glossy black thread, already knotted around a needle.

The jolt backwards as soon as the cool metal kissed antiseptic-cleaned skin was almost comical.

"_Όχι!_" Taveor snarled in response.

"Komm schon, Sie Fucker. Ich bin nicht lassen Sie sterben, weil Sie Nadel schüchtern sind _[Come on, you fucker. I'm not letting you die because you're needle shy]_." There was a terse moment of silence before a snuff escaped into the night, the hunter edged closer fractionally before turning to look away. At anything. At nothing. Did it feel no pain? It pierced ripped flesh and a scream ripped out, the beast snapped forward and, almost instinctively, bit down. Taveor hissed as teeth latched onto thick forearms, raising a hand to back hand it hard enough to loosen its vice. The beast recoiled. "Don't touch him, Ith." She froze mid-stride, flexing her bunched fist. If it took her beating the fucking thing in with her own, she would.

"It fucking _bit _you!" Notes of absolute ridicule resonated into the darkness. He shook his head before turning back to the hunter, clicking with his tongue before pulling the thread through. The second reaction was less impulsive as the first, it instead sank it's filthy teeth into its' own flesh. Snarling, high-pitched.

"He's _hurt._" She narrowed her vision further, staring into the shroud that hid its' face. Taveor continued his patchwork slowly. Each penetration of the needle into soft stomach tissue elicited a hiss-each time growing more quiet than the previous. Moments droned on sluggishly as he worked into the night. It had been maybe twenty minutes before a question bubbled forth. Dark umber irises flitted to the deep-almost stitched-gash. Crimson still oozed sluggishly from the valley of skin, cascaded down a tanned, _toned _stomach. The words congregated before she could repress herself.

"How'd it get fucked over like that..?" The way her obsidian haired friend jolted reminded her exactly how quiet the night had been. The fucker hadn't so much as flinched after its first outburst. Taveor swiveled to glance over his shoulder at her, tossing his bangs from dark eyes before turning back to his work.

"You're still here?"

"Don't avoid my question." Sifting her weight to one side she folded her arms about her chest, fixating the back of his head with a pointed stare. She knew he could feel it..there was another moment of hesitation before he spoke up once more.

"Witch."

"A witch." The upward infliction of her tone made it more of a question than the statement it was supposed to be. "They don't fuck with each other, the special ones. Why did a witch-"

"I ran into her." It sounded as if she had caught him with a hand in the cookie jar. A pregnant silence ensued. She found herself narrowing her eyes.

"So?" That didn't explain why the bitch attacked a fucking _hunter_ rather than the one whom startled her. Not that she was complaining, of course not. She'd much preferred the beast killed than her comrade. Taveor shifted to look at her once more, eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke.

"He took the fall before I could finish her off." And with this he turned back to the beast, pressing down to pick the scissors from the ground as he tied off the last inky thread. Ithus simply stared at the monster, it rocked on its' heels-still standing. Taveor nodded up to it as he righted himself from the squatted position he'd previously taken to reach the last few coils. Forty six. Forty six disgusting little blemishes to tie together this infected whom had saved her friend's life. Why? It took a moment before she realized she'd said this aloud.

It perked up, locking attention with her as Taveor stretched-neck popping grotesquely from the hinged position it'd previously undergone. A snort escaped as well as a brief hiss of pain at the use of his jaw. It popped from being so tightly cinched-biting back pain.

"_Εάν αποθηκεύσετε μια ζωή, είστε υπεύθυνος για το ότι η ζωή, λεία._" It turned its focus back to the dark haired man before him. Said counterpart nodded shortly and stepped back, allowing the infected man to drop down to all fours-not without a bark of shocked pain coupled with an almost inaudible growl. Ithus offered yet another shifty glance but refocused herself to Taveor whom was plucking around the dirt for any disused supplies.

"Why do I feel like that thing's not leaving."

"Because he's not." It was so matter-of-fact she blanked for a retort. Regaining lucidity she found herself pushing forwards to him, taking a hold of his arm. Forcing him to look at her.

"It's not a pet." "I know." "It can't stay." There was a moment of silence before Taveor slowly began to nod, glancing over to the hunter.

"I'll be seeing you, then." And with that he gestured for the beast to go. "Schlaf, sind wir morgen verlassen _[Rest, we're leaving tomorrow]_." Tucking the pack under his arm he turned back to the safe house, opening the door with a soft clank before shuffling inside. Leaving a stunned Ithus out in the dark with the retreating form of his hunter. His monster. His.

It was only when dawn broke in little spears through the barred window did the others find a note of chicken scratch, written on the wall just above the makeshift stove of a simple pot and dying ash. Red ink was used.

"**Wenn Sie ein Leben zu retten, sind Sie verantwortlich für das Leben**."


	5. Βροχή

What, what is this? _Two _updates with in a week? Oh lord,  
the apocalypse must be night! I'm going to go ahead and  
blame this chapter once more on _CleverDucky _as well as  
Tiff (_Horrifics_)-thank you both for both the muse plus the  
character I whore out to my little hunter. Enjoy?

* * *

**Rain.**

My eyes wouldn't turn away from the planes of crisp, chilled leaves as they fluttered in their place above me. This cold was bizarre. I know I should have recognized it; there has been cold before. But not like this. Not so soon, the warm wasn't done yet. The human must have realized this as well, it-_he, _I must remind myself_-_murmured softly to itself more often. Foreign notions that were once words bubble out. It was weird. Seeing him speaking to no one. It got to the point that I would nudge into him when it started. To this he would kick softly at me and bark out something along the lines of 'talking' and 'breaking silence'.

Translating his words was becoming less painful, gestures becoming more familiar. I'm almost ashamed, am I becoming human? No. We're still different. I'm nothing like that monster whom kills my brothers with _airstings._ Soft growls bubble in the back of my throat at the very thought. He offers me an unsettled glance before readjusting his grip on the _loudstingdeath_. It clinked ominously. My lips sealed themselves, fixating it with a hard look. _Growl. Look. Badbad. No loudstingdeath. No airstings. Quiet. Look. Wait. Quiet. _

His grip relaxed fractionally on the offending item, I jerked forwards. Pressing closer to the ground. Low is safe. High _airstings _can catch you easily. Low is safe. I stay low. A soft clicking of the humans' mouth drew my attention upwards before pausing, realizing he wasn't there. Tossing a glance over a clothed shoulder I found he had paused, focus behind us. I turned back to look as well. Nothing. Fodder rocking in the distance, languidly pacing themselves. Aimlessly. I growled, regaining his eyes before I pointedly looked forwards.

"Πάμε _[Go]_?" No response. The human just turned back to him, gesturing upwards a moment before stating almost coolly.

"Es wird Regen." _It will _do something? Confusion swept about me, I cocked my head upwards as well. An overcast had settled in, almost ominous. Wind beckoned from behind us, tousling baggy clothes. Instinctively I found my hands drawing to the shelter, drawing it further across my face in an attempt to banish the cold. The human had the same sort of idea; drawing his own shelter, that had previously been lying flat, up. Tightening his grip on his pack he turned down to me once more, nodding to proceed. A moment I stared at him, hesitant. To this he puffed out in exasperation, continuing on himself.

Not to be outdone, of course, I scuttled into action. Wriggling to the front of our two-man pack. Snorting over my shoulder at him. A soft, amused, snort of his own met hypersensitive ears. Coiling my hands in on themselves I tensed my back legs, readying to jump. Eyes narrowed in disdain, ridicule.

"Ey, ey, ey! Tun Sie nicht, dass wir, brauchen um ein sicheres Haus vor dem Regen zu finden." My dimmed conscious flounced about _'sicheres Haus'_;_ reddoor_. 'Nicht'; disapproval word. I knew enough to piece that he wanted a reddoor-and for me to stay. Barking, I allowed a response.

"Δεν ένα κατοικίδιο _[Not a pet]_." He must have noted the gruff tone in my voice because he waved a hand in an almost off manner. Spitting into the dirt.

"Gut, gehen. Bekommen Sie getränkt, wenn Sie Sie dumm Fuck wollen." 'Fine, go? Go get' _something_, _something _'dumb fuck.' I stopped trying to grasp his words after this, the gist is enough. Snarling in response I sprang off, I could feel his attention glued to my retreating figure until I was sure he was far out of sight. Only then did I allow myself to slow my pace. _Food. Hunger. Growl. Runjumppounce. _Instinctively my mouth dropped, inhaling through till the glands there tasted the air. It was moist. Foreboding. Water. _Skywater. _Snuffing I shook myself, refocusing. Food now. Shelter later.

The amount of time after I'd parted from my human was indeterminable. It was too short for another sun to rise, but it was more than enough time for the clouds to part. For the _skywater _to come. What began as a few glistening, chilly trinkets became sheets. A downpour. Not entirely uncommon, but far from welcome. I must have passed our last place together on the road at least four times. The scent had been dimmed by moisture-it was all but gone.

By the time I had caught a whiff of anything remotely human my shelter was soaked to the core. It was cold, hindering. I realize that tearing it off would have been a far better choice, yet, some baser instinct told me to be shameful. I kept the garments on till I found mud had soaked too far into them; it was almost to the point in which I could no longer_ runjumppounce._ Panicked, unsteady fingers lacerated thick cloth soon after this revelation. As if the shelter had become dangerous, hazardous.

In a way it had. He needed to find his human. Where was his _human_? A soft whimper threatened to bubble forth before it donned, follow the road. So I did. Sepia hued irises flittering to the abruptly passing scenery. Draining it for any signs of life. Nothing. _Nonono. Search. Growl. Runjumppounce. Smell. Prey? Search. Growl. _It was as if scampering through hyper drive, _skywater _distorting my senses. Overworking them. It made my head throb. Shelter. Need out of wind. I know this, stuffing the human to the back of my mind I turn to the buildings lining the road; they were sparse. One, maybe two, every long walk. _Hour? _Words as such were shoved to the pits of his abysmally dismal conscious, not now. Don't think. Shelter. Shuddering softly as a chill of wind brushed bare, soaked flesh I lurched forwards. Out of the cold. Out of the _skywater_. The human would have to wait.

It was foreign, little spears of dawn woke me-the first lights of the morning breaking through soft, filthy glass in the kitchen I'd holed myself in. Underneath the table in a nest of cloth to warm myself. In my raid of the building I found a new shelter, it was thicker than the last; and was brown. With little white lines. Pulling it together I shuffled to the door, shoving it open with a blunt plane of shoulder. Beams of sunlight pelted hypersensitive eyes, instinctively I groped behind me to pull up the shelter. Human. Human. Human.

Allowing my jaw to part slightly I inhaled once more. Mentally sifting through the smells in search for his. My prey. I pause to allow myself to wallow in ridicule, shocked at my own urge to go back to that beast. With his ever present _loudstingdeath, _and _airstings.._the looming coil in my gut knotted over once more. I wanted his company. Company. Wrinkling the bridge of my nose I snarled absently. No, it was just nice to have around.

_Misery loves company_.

Jostling myself to attention I dropped to all fours, hands sinking ever so slightly in the saturated dirt, before cocking back and jumping. Searching. Back to the road, back to the place they last were together, then forward. Fasterfasterfaster. Morning gave way to noon, and noon slipped into dusk. There was still not a whiff of my target. My _λεία_. It make my stomach knot over with some foreign notion.

And then it was there. That familiar musk, it leeched the smells from the very land. So undeniably _human _it made my mouth water. Senses, once so bleached by the _skywater, _thrown into overkill. I shoved them aside, prowling closer to the source-a roadside shed of sorts. It was opened fractionally. The innards dark; I blinked thrice before pupils dilated enough to see.

There he was, propped against the opposing wall. Arm draping the _loudstingdeath_. I eyed it, was it awake? Watching me? The deep, soft breathing that resonated throughout the storeroom spoke that it was at rest as well. I didn't tear my gaze from it as I inched forwards, pausing only when I found myself but a hairsbreadth from the human. He didn't stir. His shelter was dry, as if he'd escaped the _skywater. _Outside yet another drizzle had picked up, shivering softly I turned from the entrance back to the human.

It would be so easy to kill. The scent clouded my glands, it overwhelmed. Hunger panged from the dark, I know I don't need food now but you eat when opportunity presents…and did opportunity present. Offering the _loudstingdeath _an offhand look, waiting for it to spark to life and release _airstings _at my muses alone I paused. Waiting.

Nothing came.

Glancing back upwards I found myself raising, arm but inches from his neck. A jolt forwards and the meal would hold him over for maybe a week. No scavenging small prey. No more _bushtails_, or _ringtails, _or _bighorns_. A brash swallow rasps forth before a few moments of tense silence settle in. It would be so easy. So hungry. So _delicious. _

And just like that my body jolts backwards, as if singed. A soft hiss bubbling out before I could with strain myself. Settling back I curled around, shuffling away from him. Staring. Why can't I kill you..gingerly my brow knotted. My head throbbed from excess thought. I'll think about it later, after rest. At such a thought I rocked forward once more, crawling close once more, nestling with my back to the warmth of his leg. Like I'm supposed to be there. It took little time before my breath slowed, drifting off into a light unconsciousness. The sound of rain dazzling the tin roof over head like a twisted lullaby.


	6. Σάλιο

Oh my _Lord_, all these updates. The third one in a week? That's  
unheard of! Espically for my lazy ass. There is one more that I  
have partially finished and I think that might be the last I'll be  
able to push out for a while...depending on my lovely _Ducky_,  
whom both harasses my lazy but enough to get up and actually  
do something-ily hun ;) This chapter to you as well as _Tiff_, even  
though Taveor isn't mentioned in it-he'll be back next chapter-  
I swear!

I just felt like this needed to be written. Darien deserves this  
much, plus I also need an explination as to why Taveor knows  
his name; the **anklet**. Enjoy?

* * *

**Saliva.**

Darien P. Hawthright was a twenty-four year old Biology major in the University of Augusta. Sophomore year in college, paid courtesy of his father (as well as a hefty scholarship). Fluent in three different languages; German, Russian, and English. German he had learned in high school back in Georgia, Russian he had picked up since birth, namely from his father whom was there some 200 days of the year on business. His mother raised him on home-style teachings and love, his father called every other day or so to be sure they kept close.

When their boy told them he wanted to become a surgeon for the peace core the back up behind him was enough to study has ass off the last two years in high school. He passed through with flying colors once his act cleaned up. When scholarships from across the east coast began knocking on the front door of their tiny one-bedroom apartment no one was surprised. When the voted high school prom queen Levan Sendinson began knocking, however, everyone was shocked.

She and Darien began their own mismatched 'prom queen-4.5 GPA nerd' relationship. What was more surprising than the couple themselves was the fact that it _worked_. If asked she would swear left and right about how stupid she had been for not admitting sooner that they should get together. When he went off to Maine she was right next to his mother showering him with kisses and words of 'good luck' and for him to call at least twice everyday.

And they were faithful. Two years down the road he promised her the day he set foot out of college he's take her to any chapel she chose and they'd be married like a proper couple. Despite how 'fruity' he felt about wearing the anklet she sent him engraved with their names on his 24th birthday in response to his offhand proposal the sterling silver never left his tanned form.

On the off occasions he would write he would mention all the types of details only a college boy would think to mention; how there were quite a few 'purdy' girls on campus but none of them could compare to his two golden girls back home. His momma, and his Levan. How he'd recently gotten into sports such as soccer and parkour courtesy of a few of his Russian friends. How Maine was "so much fucking colder" than sweet ol' Duluth, Georgia.

Then the broadcasts began. Evacuations started down in Louisiana as well as Texas. Warning people to wash their hands, to go to the hospital _immediately _if they felt anything even remotely sick. Face masks were broadly distributed in public places by CEDA officers. And then the rumors began. They began as whispers, whispers such as how the virus _changes_ you. How it turned you into a monster. A monster with the munchies for flesh.

People down south were being _shot _on sight if they were to so much as cough in the wrong place. That was the last straw, Darien called up his father whom wired him enough money to fly down to Georgia, pick up his mother-as well as Levan and her family-and to fly them over to Russia. There they could stay safely with him in a nice motel until the whole ordeal over in America blew over.

He packed seven changes of clothes, his wallet, and the sterling silver chain that night and caught the first flight down. Levan was waiting for him in her blue Honda. Face sallow as they kissed hellos. She told him in the car ride back that her parents and Jonathon-her younger brother-had already left the state while she stayed back for him. And that his mother wasn't answering any calls, that she knew she shouldn't be worried but she was. Darien was as well.

When they arrived at the apartment the rooms were dark. Nervous, they nudged inside. Sides all but glued to each other as they scoured the four rooms. Nothing. No signs of a struggle. No blood. No puke. And when they checked out back, no car. Nothing. They agreed to wait a day or so for her to return before they left out for Russia. That she was bound to be home soon-she must have just stepped out, the oven was still on.

By the morning their duo had become a quad, in the night the neighbors from across the street, Jonse and Phylis Kendrix, came pounding on the little white front door. Begging to be allowed in, that there was _something _in the thicket behind their house that was gurgling like mad. Darien relented, allowing the two to the bed room while he and Levan folded out the couch. By her request the news was turned on.

Evacuation notices became more frequent with the night. People were cautioned to 'arm themselves'. To wash their hands and to wear their face masks, even in their own home. Most importantly, that if they were to see anyone with the following symptoms to not allow them inside your home. Lock your door-barricade it-and dial 911-…

"One day" became one week. Four became six. And the pantry was beginning to give way. Campbell and Mark were two high school buddies of Darien's, they had been smart enough to get out of their dorm in downtown Atlanta and plead to be allowed in after their car had broken down about a block away. Claiming some psycho was chasing after them. They slept atop a bed of blankets on the living room floor weaving tales into the night of being followed and witnessing people shooting-killing-each other for cans of food. The drone of monotonous News broadcasts listlessly chorused in the back ground, almost ominously.

On the eighth day it was simultaneously agreed they needed to out of town. Soon. Levan's Honda would only comfortably hold four people. Campbell's Ford would seat eight. It, however, was out of gas. Levan agreed to drive the two boys out to the closest gas station about two miles back so they could pick up a few gallons. She and Darien would kiss a brief goodbye before they left off. The return was fruitless-the store had already been looted of its goods, the gas pumps wouldn't flick on. It appeared that half of the city's power was out.

Jonse offered that he might have a tank in his garage, it was only half full but it would be enough to get them to the BP up north some ten miles away. He and Phylis armed themselves with the handgun Mark had brought with him as well as a metallic bat. In the end Mr. Kendrix took the bat while the Mrs. Took the handgun. "Less work for my little lady." He had said. There was no argument after that. The farewell was brushed off with a shower of 'good luck's from the younger four survivors.

They didn't return. Darien and the others waited with baited breath. Levan was at the window the entire time they were gone. As minutes melted into hours their tension grew. It was well past sundown when any remote sign of life kindled from the house across the street. When an utterly shocked gasp resonated through the house everyone heard. The reaction was immediate. Outside limped a bloodied Mrs. Kendrix, the handgun limply gripped in her hand. Green eyes wide, alert. Unnerved. Levan rushed to let her in.

Her first broken words were something along the lines of "Jonse is dead. My baby is dead.."

"It's ok Mrs. Kendrix, please, calm down." Levan tried to soothe with a cup of hot tea, Phylis didn't touch it. She simply shook her head and continued on babbling on.

"There were so many of them; my Jonse asked the boy in our house what he was doing but when he turned around the snapper was covered in _blood._" She spat out the word as if it in-pained her to even think it. "He-he ran at my Jonse and, and _bit him. _Took a chunk right out of his neck, and the _blood_, oh God there was so much of it…" Levan, whom had been stroking her shoulder comfortingly put a hand over the woman's. Nodding that she didn't have to say anymore, that after rest they would all leave tomorrow in the Honda. That there would be other cars and they would make room in the back. That she would feel better in the morning.

She was fatally wrong. It must have been four in the morning when the pounding began. Fists upon hard wood. The four college students startled awake, turning to the front door. Levan did so much as to get up and check the window. Nothing was out there..and then it occurred to them. The pounding was _inside_.

"Mrs. Kendrix?" The approach to the bedroom door was lethargic, painfully slow. Tension was on the rise. An almost animalistic snarl escaped as the wood began to splinter. Darien was first to react, jerking Levan by the shoulder away from the door. Mark grabbed the handgun from the coffee table, aiming it at the door which was slowly being torn off its' hinges. Whatever was in there wasn't the little old lady from across the street. Darien found this out quickly as he was suddenly thrown into by a 48 year old snarling _monster. _

Instinct was enough to drive him to catch her by the wrists as he was thrown to the ground, above him two sepia irises shone down-wild. _Insane. _He was sure someone was screaming, something about not having a good shot with the thing so close to him. Mark's voice? Levan was frantic. Her trills was enough to break through the almost rabid noises of Mrs. Kendrix. His name. Darien, Darien. There was a struggle. The monster above him must have been aware of the gun aimed at its head because it began wriggling in earnest as soon as a metallic 'click' spoke up through the chaos.

And then there was pain. Teeth with strength that didn't belong to such an old woman bearing into sinewy arms. Somewhere in his mind it registered that he was screaming. _Get back, Levan. Go away! Stay away from it. Mark! Campbell! Help! Someone, please God get it off! _It never occurred to him what had just happened when what used to be the face of his loving neighbor was blown to disgusting bits. Folds of skin flopped uselessly for a moment before the corpse went limp atop him.

Dark emerald irises widened as the dead weight lurched upon him. And then it was gone, his ears were ringing as he registered Mark's face above him. Then Levan. Then Campbell. There were words exchanged, but it was but a dull hymn as blood pumped through his eardrums. Like rushing water. Endless and empowering. It hurt. His arm, oh God it _burned. _Then it clicked; _scream. _So he did. Crimson lifeblood oozed out of the crescent shaped incision on his arm. Left arm, forearm, whatever. Damn it hurt. So much.

"Darien, Darien calm down!" Arms were on him, holding him down.

"Dude, get back! You know how it is; if you get bit you're screwed!" Then there was a choked gasp, Levan? No, nono. Please don't cry, beautiful. Don't cry. It didn't occur to him that he said this aloud. Voice slightly rugged from the screaming.

"Darien, oh God, Darien. Please, please stay with me."

"I'm right here, beautiful." More tears as she pushed away the other two boys, cradling his head to her chest as she cried into his hair. He inhaled deeply, it hurt. It hurt to move. To breath. To blink. To _be. _There was a long pause filled only with the soft, almost silent cries of his girl as she embraced him yet closer. Then Mark finally spoke up.

"Lev, honey. He has to go. He's one of _them _now." A pointed look at the body of Phylis, rolled over onto its' stomach to avoid seeing what used to be a loving face-or what was left of it. She didn't take this well, turning to the brunette and lashing out.

"No! Look at him! He's still talking, he's not trying to kill us! He's still _Darien_."

"No.." A wet cough resonated from her lap, all eyes flicked down to him. Dark hair matted, emerald eyes glassed over; half in-pained, half just..dazed. "No, no love. Please; shoot me-I, don't want to be like _that._" She was shaking her head before he even finished the sentence, eyes brimming with more tears. The word 'no' slipping through pristine enamel like a mantra.

"Oh god, please Darien, don't make me do that. Anything but that." Campbell finally spoke up, agreeing that he could do it if Darien was serious. The question didn't need to be answered. Mark knelt down, ignoring the way Levan jerked back away from him as if scalded when he asked if he could help up their wounded. There were just tears. So many tears. Four years of labor, work, and love put between the two so easily ripped away by two college boys with a .45 colt handgun.

The trudge out to the back porch was like an execution march, in a way, it sort of was. His head hung low, breathing labored, ragged, _tired._ And the pain. Oh god, was there pain. Each step was a firecracker through molten veins. He swallowed this down as they strode into the white picket-fenced backyard, the empty lot where his mothers' '69 Sedan usually lay made his stomach jolt for her. Where was she? Did she know her son was becoming a monster? Did she know he had asked to die in her back yard, in the petunia bushes she had once strived so hard to keep trim.

For the first time tears gathered in dark irises before he turned to his two killers. Their eyes just as broken as his own. Marks' hand shuddered on the trigger. Lucid enough he closed his eyes, smiled. Thanked them. And then the bullet was out. There was darkness. Darkness had never been so sweet. Four days later he would find himself half dead in a drainage pipe, the bullet had ripped through skin, but ricocheted off calcium backed bone-at most cracking them. Missing its mark; no doubt a cause of an unsteady hand.

Blood would have soaked through his body. Blinking was difficult, moving as well. As if wading through molasses. When he tried to call out for help no words would form. Wet gurgles, however, were abundant. Throat scratchy, as if he had swallowed a cotton ball. Darien P. Hawthright was no more. Outside he noted it had started to rain. With a twang he realized that it was a pity that showers didn't wash away _everything._


End file.
